


chasing you down

by xxpaynoxx



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Can you hear me right now, I got your number and I'm callin' you out with liquid courage. I can beat all my doubt; there's not another, so I'm chasin' you down.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	chasing you down

**Author's Note:**

> "Antoine Griezmann voice* enjoy.

The first time Leo sees him, he’s alone in a corner, nursing a gin and tonic.

Gerard says he’s not new, and that he’s been coming for a while now. He used to be in the crowd dancing with his friends (he points at a tall, blonde, pale man with a boy nearly identical to the one sitting alone in skin color grinding up on him), but he doesn’t anymore. Leo asks why, but Gerard shrugs.

“It’s none of my business. If you want to know, why don’t you ask?” he challenges, as he pours Leo his beer.

Leo’s face blanches. “What? I can’t just go up to a stranger and talk to him!” he hisses, but Gerard just rolls his eyes. “He looks lonely, _amigo_ , you should keep him company,” he says, and then turns away, signaling to Leo that he’s done arguing.

Leo watches him first.

He’s got spiky brown hair that’s shot through with a dull blonde, and the color looks lackluster, like it hasn’t been re-dyed in a long time. His eyes are a pretty hazel, but they look washed out. His one arm is adorned with black tattoos, and his skin is a dark tan. He looks like he’s sucking in all the light around him, like a black hole.

The chair squeaks as Leo slips off, throwing a thumbs up at Gerard and a wink at Mascherano, who’s sitting at the entrance, a gun hidden in the holster on his belt. Mascherano’s eyes narrow, calculating the danger of the situation (he always harps on Leo not wearing a Kevlar vest when they go out but, come on, who wears a Kevlar vest out to a club?), but eventually he nods and goes back to his drink and his phone.

Leo moves like he’s in a dream, the bodies around him pushing and pulling against him like a tide of blue and pink and purple. But he doesn’t let himself get dragged in, he just walks through the crowd and appears at the edge of his table.

The boy looks up and starts, his guard immediately up. He’s tense as Leo slides in front of him, and his knuckles tighten on his glass of gin and tonic narrow as Leo smiles at him. Up close, the boy is even cuter; he’s got a roman numeral tattoo behind his ear, and there’s a crown tattoo on one of his thin fingers. His sunglasses are thick and black, and they reflect the light of the dance floor, rendering his eye expression unreadable.

Leo introduces himself, and when the boy doesn’t respond, instead choosing to sip his drink, he talks.

Leo doesn’t talk like this to anyone, not even Gerard. He _hates_ talking, always hated it, but something about this boy makes him want to talk. He can’t pick a specific subject, so he just talks. Talks about argentina, about Antonella, about Thiago and Mateo. He talks about how they left, how he misses them, how he sees them occasionally but it’s not nearly enough. He talks about how it’s only been six days since Antonella moved out and Gerard had to bait him to get him out of the house.

The boy visibly straightens as Leo talks, as if relaxing while listening to Leo’s voice. When Leo stops and takes a sip of his beer, his lips part.

“You have a nice voice.”

his voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in a long time, and it’s so small and soft that Leo barely misses it, but he blushes when he catches it. “It’s the Argentine accent, I guess, it’s soothing to some people,” he jokes, taking another swig of beer.

“I like it. Can you, um, keep talking?”

Leo looks at him, surprised, and goes to open his mouth when the blonde man from earlier that Gerard pointed out looms from behind the boy, his blue eyes cold hard. The tan boy from earlier is hanging from his arm and hiccuping, clearly smashed.

“What are you doing?” he says, his voice low and threatening, and Leo nearly reaches for the gun he’s packed into the back of his jeans before the boy turns and puts a hand on the blonde man’s chest.

“Marc, stop. He just broke up with his girlfriend, okay?” he says, and Leo detects an accent in his voice, making his words more spread out and articulated and guttural, more rough than Leo’s voice. Leo likes it, almost wants to ask the boy to speak again, but the blonde man has turned to him and now he looks _really_ pissed off. “Listen, if he didn’t ask for you to talk to him, I don’t want you to talk to him, okay?” he snarls.

Leo feels a presence appear next to him, and he sees Gerard arrive, crossing his arms and glaring at the blonde man, who has gone a nice shade of white.

“Is there something wrong here, Marc? You know I have no problem throwing you out of this establishment,” Gerard says with a tone like ice, chilling the temperature around Leo at least twenty degrees. Marc swallows hard, nodding, and then pulls at the boy. “Come on, Neymar,” he says to the boy, “I’ve gotta get Rafinha home, he’s a mess.”

The boy (no, _Neymar_ ) looks reluctant to leave, but he does as he stuffs a twenty into Gerard’s bartender pocket and gives Leo a thin, small smile as he’s pulled away by the blonde man. The other boy clutches to Marc’s arm and looks like he’s damn near to pissing himself laughing, definitely _not_ sober. That must be Rafinha.

A hand on Leo’s shoulder makes him jump, and it’s just Mascherano, who’s joined the congregation of three, his phone tucked into his pocket. “Come on, Leo, he’s a regular. You’ll see him again,” he says, and Leo starts. “Excuse me, I’m not worrying about when I’m going to see him again!” he shouts indignantly over the dying music, and Gerard lets out a snort.

“Please, you’re smitten. Now let’s get you home before you try to woo to any more of these cute outcasts.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I probably won't be making another chapter for this, but I don't know. I haven't decided yet.


End file.
